But his son still didn’t move.
For the first time, Grant really looked at Naomi. She couldn’t have been older than her late twenties. There was weariness in her eyes, but also strength. She wasn’t just an employee cooking meals and tidying up. Somehow, in three weeks, she had become his son’s safe harbor.
He remembered the trembling shoulders he’d first seen. She’d been crying. Why?
Grant lowered his voice. “Naomi… why were you crying?”
She hesitated. “Because… because I didn’t know how to comfort him anymore. He cried himself to sleep every night asking for you. I tried to tell him you were coming home soon, but he stopped believing me. I felt helpless.”
Grant’s chest ached. For years, he had thought money was the answer to everything. Hire the best people, provide the best toys, build the best future. Yet here was this young woman, without riches or contracts, who had given his son something priceless: love, presence, comfort.
That night, after Naomi tucked Lucas into bed—his small hand still gripping hers—Grant stood at the doorway and watched. His son had finally fallen asleep peacefully, a faint smile on his face.
